Can You Reach Me?
by ToiletWater
Summary: The slow dying flower, in the frost killing hour, the sweet turning sour and untouchable." This is the story of a girl, one like any other- with issues, like every one else. She's no different from you, so really, it's not all that interesting. Really...
1. Into a Mad World

The sky was filled with looming clouds, announcing rain but never quite raining. It was humid, but the water littering the air was cool, keeping it from suffocating all the people around. No one was outside, except for the little bits of litter that caught the eye every now and then. Lightning flashed, but still no rain graced the earth.

Again, it flashed, and right then it came - the sound of a baby crying.

"Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Hadley ," the doctor said, though Michael had passed out long ago; "it's a girl."

And there she was, a small, pink, roly-poly infant with big, green eyes. Brooke held her close. Ten months ago, when she found out she was pregnant, it had been the end of her life. Now, she stroked the baby's warm, pink skin with her finger. There was a groaning and a stirring from the chair across the room, where Michael began to stand. He stepped over, taking his child's hand as she nursed contentedly. Brooke appeared as though she may pass out.

"Honey, could you go get me some water?" she asked, her voice hoarse.

"Sure." he whispered in reply, trailing through the hall to the elevator.

The doctor's said she was perfectly normal at seven and a half pounds and 19 inches long. Brooke knew they were wrong. Still, she smiled as she grabbed her daughter's hand as the girl began falling asleep.

They considered an abortion. But they didn't consider that for long. Then they considered adoption. But that wouldn't change her genetics. She would never be normal. She would have to worry. Maybe she would do the same thing her mother did, and pretend she knew nothing about it. Brooke tried not to think about it, but she had no choice. She would have to at some point.

"Welcome to the world, Remy Michelle Hadley."

Lightning flashed. Finally, it began to rain. And when Michael walked back into the hospital room, both of them were asleep.


	2. A Slow Process

A/N: Since I thought it would be more realistic for a four-year-old to speak with improper grammar, I added a few mistakes in intentionally.

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Things were 'normal' for four years, or what ever "normal" could possibly be. She learned to talk, crawl, and walk- just like any other infant. She even had time to play, and go to the park.

She was four, and while she was a joy to her parents, they could not have possibly expected what those tiny, dividing cells would turn out to be like. She was fiery and opinionated, and made it well-known that she would rather walk around naked. There had already been several incidents of trying to take her clothes off in public places, especially at the beach. Brooke and Michael joked to each other that that meant nothing about her future life. Luckily, at the park, she seemed to forget that she was wearing clothes.

"Moooom!" she practically sang, running from the hop-scotch she'd made with green chalk; "can I play with my bubbles now?" she smiled a warm, sunny, innocent smile only seen in a girl her age; it was impossible not to smile back.

"Sure." she said, handing up the pink, dolphin-shaped bubbles. "Try not to spill them this time?"

"Okay!" she half-giggled, taking the container of semi-slippery bubbles.

"Hang on," her dad called, grabbing the container of sunblock; "you might want to put some of this on again so you don't burn."

"Awww." she sighed, setting down the botle. "Do I have to?" another well-known fact; Remy Michelle Hadley _despised _sunblock. It got in her mouth and left an icky taste, it felt weird on her body, and- most of all- it kept her from playing with bubbles (or whatever else she wanted to do, for that matter).

Her dad just nodded and knealt down so he was about her height. Most of the time, he put it on her- it was too hard for her to do, and it was boring. He did have her apply it to the areas deep inside the openings of the sleeves in her peppermint-striped sundress. It kinda tickled, so it was okay.

"Now," he put his hand on her head gently; "you can go back and play."

She ran off, grabbing the bubbles and semi-twirling all the way back up to where she'd made the hop-scotch. Her parents had never seen a four-year-old who was so content to play by herself. She did okay with other kids, but was just...happy alone. Some times there was an imaginary friend, like one called "Candle" that she said slept next to her when the power went out or when it stormed (of course, she said it in four-year-old language). Or the cat that liked to watch TV with her. When her mom asked her why she wanted to play alone so much, she simply told her;

"Because then other kids don't bug me to do what they wanna do."

At least the girl was honest.

As the dark-haired little girl drew pictures in the sidewalk, she seemed to be talking. Whether it was to herself or to an imaginary friend, her parents didn't know. Curiously, Michael walked over near her, and sat with his legs half-bent.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Mint." she said, drawing big circles then looking the other way; "Like that?"

"Who's Mint?"

"Mint is the cat what watched TV with me."

"Is he really green, or do you just want to use that chalk?" he asked, this time with a bit more humor.

"He's green. That's why his name is Mint. His mommy said; 'he's green, so that should be his name.'" she drew a loop where the tail would be, and added a paw at the tip.

"And what about daddy?"

"It was one of the names his daddy liked." she responded, matter-of-factly. "His mom wouldn't name him some thing his dad didn't like." Remy stroked the sidewalk, as though she were some how petting the critter through the outline. "D'ya know why he's green?"

"No, I don't." he replied. "Why is he green?"

"'Cause his mom was yellow," she pointed to a picture of a similar-looking yellow "cat", "and his dad was blue." she pointed the other direction to a blue cat. "And they're aliens. His mom is from the planet Sun and his dad is from the planet Moon." because, of course, to a four-year-old, the sun and moon are planets.

"So where is he from?" Her dad decided not to correct her; she wouldn't understand any ways.

"Earth." she replied, giggling. "If he wasn't from Earth, he can't watch TV with me."

And it happened then. A screaming fit, right from where her mom was. Concerned, she got up, but her dad put a hand in front of her to keep her from moving.

Brooke got up, screaming profanities, and suddenly punched a tree.

"What's wrong?!" the four year old squealed, herself beginning to cry, unsure of what was happening.

"I...I don't know." he said, then warning; "Stay here."

"Daddy?!" she panicked, hyperventilating. To a four year old, this was scary- somehow petrifying, though there was usually not a specific end result in mind- not until they get older. She went to run, when her mind reeled out a kind, familiar voice;

_"He told you to stay." _

Candle. Remy breathed deeply and grabbed at the air, grasping tightly onto what would be his hand. If Candle was here, every thing would be alright.

But that was only one in a long series of events...and, at the end of them, she would soon find out, that every thing would not be alright.

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Michael took Brooke to the doctor later that week. Remy stayed with her Aunt Claire. Aunt Clair was nice and Uncle Rick was funny. He had a gray beard with little bits of brown, and his hair was all gray. It felt like a puppy; she liked to touch it in any way possible. Aunt Claire baked cookies and they went to the playground. It was different from the park, it had monkey bars and a slide and a sandbox. The park just had swings and a place to ride bikes and draw. There used to be a slide, but it broke. She played in the sandbox, even though she couldn't build very much without water.

By the 2:00pm, Uncle Rick had to carry her home because she had almost fallen asleep on their picnic blanket. She was too tired to touch his beard. He took her to Aunt Claire's house and she slept on the couch while they watched courtroom TV shows that were boring, any ways.

The four-year-old woke up teary-eyed at 3:30, but couldn't remember what had upset her. She was scared but didn't know why. Uncle Rick sat her in his lap and let her play with his beard. Aunt Claire let her watch cartoons. She didn't wonder for more than a second why her parents acted so differently before she was distracted by a chocolate chip cookie. Cookies needed her full attention more than her thoughts, so she quickly forgot it.

Mommy and Daddy came to pick her up soon. Concerned, the four year old gave her mother a hug and said;

"Are you okay now? Did the doctor make you feel better?" and, with the palm of her hand, touched her mom's forehead.

"The doctor gave me medicine," she replied; "like when you get sick. The medicine will make me better."

Relieved, though no one knew quite of what, the four-year-old threw her arms around her mother. Then the four adults sat down on the couch and talked. Remy sat at the table and drew pictures.

"They're very good," her mother said, looking at them all. "I'll have to hang them on the fridge when we get home."

She sat in mommy's lap. "I wanna be an artist." she announced in her child-like manner. "I wanna draw and color in stuff."

"That sounds fun," her dad responded, reclining in the chair. "You can be whatever you want to be when you grow up."

And right then, she wanted to be an artist.

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A/N: Admit it. Little Thirteen + cookies = the most adorable thing you've ever imagined. I actually didn't know until I was writing this that she wanted to be an artist at four, I had thought astronaut. But you know how fickle children are, one minute an astronaut and the next a gardener and the next an artist :)


	3. Best Friend

She went to pre-school in June. Daddy said he had to work again, and didn't want to leave her home in case mommy got "sick" again. Since she wasn't old enough to go to kindergarten yet, they took her to a different school. It was scary at first, but she got used to it. They had legos, and mats, and blocks, and Hot-wheels...those were fun. And on Wednesday's they took the kids outside to the playground. She liked to slide down the slides and ride bikes around the sidewalk.

It was a Friday, which meant today was art day. Daddy said she would go to kindergarten in September. She decided she would paint a kindergarten for art today and take it home. Teacher always said they could take it home if they wanted. Daddy dropped her off again and gave her backpack and special nap blanket to Teacher, and gave her a kiss on the head. "Be good," he told her, and she nodded. Remy walked in and the first thing she noticed was a little boy in over-alls playing with the Hot-wheels. The girls never wanted to play and the boys wouldn't let her play 'cause she was a girl, but she'd never seen him before.

"Hi," she said to him; "can I play with you?"

He nodded shyly and handed her a car. It was the green one- her favorite. She smiled at him and sat down beside him on the rug.

"What's your name?"

"Ethan." he said, making a 'vrrooom' sound with the car. "What's your's?"

"Remy."

"Do you have a sister?"

"No."

"I have a sister. She's older than me. Her name's Georgia." he said, taking the purple and red cars and faking a crash between them, making a "fwwsshhh" sort of sound. "Do you have a brother?"

"Uh-uh." She shook her head and began to drive the car around on the rug.

"My sister goes to school." he told her, getting a block to use as a type of ramp. "She's a big girl, she's six. I'm four. But I'm gonna be five and my mom said I get to go to school this year. She said we're gonna go to the same school."

"I'm gonna start school soon, too." she told him, getting a policeman to pull over her car because it was going too fast. "But I'm five now. I turned five a couple of days before yesterday."

They sat and chatted like that for a while, until it was art time. Teacher told them to clean up and they did, and she put their smocks on them. Remy sat down next to Ethan.

"Whatcha gonna paint?" he asked her as the brushes, water and little pallets of paint were passed around. She picked up a smaller brush to start with.

"A school." she told him happily.

"Oh. I'm paintin' a car." he said, then asked as he picked up his brush; "When you're a grown up, what do you wanna do?"

"I wanna be an artist."

"I wanna make cars."

"Can I paint them?" she asked, now looking to her paper as she tried to make a brush stroke with the red on her brush. "I like painting."

"Sure."

The teacher was pleasantly surprised to see the girl make an actual effort to sit next to some one today. It wasn't that she was particularly isolated, but she had never seemed to care much for people. Not only that, but Ethan had had a rough day- having been picked on for the color of his skin.

Their friendship continued. With joy they both realized they were going to the same school. They played at the park together and went to each other's houses. Remy's parents, of course, were thrilled that she had finally made a best friend- reguardless of his coloring. When she announced that she wanted to marry him, her mom just smiled a maternal type of smile and said she could when she got older.

Little did any of them know that the medication would soon stop working.....


End file.
